


Taller than a Musket

by stardust009



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Athos is done with them all, Bromance, Friendship, Minor Character Death, Porthos gets too involved, kink meme fill, mini-musketeer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-14 08:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3404789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardust009/pseuds/stardust009
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabelle didn't want to be a mother but didn't know how to tell Aramis or her family. Still pregnant when she hides herself at the convent, she tries to figure out what to do. When she eventually gives birth the nuns help find a good family to raise the child. 10 years later, the family moves to Paris and the child is the spitting image of Aramis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Authors notes - I’m trying something different I guess. I don’t know how old Aramis is meant to be in the TV show, I suspect a little older than I’m making him in this story so please forgive me for that.]

“Get down!” d’Artagnan heard Athos yelling and he didn’t need telling twice. He ducked behind an abandoned cart loaded with hay as gun-fire sounded from the building where it now seemed quite certain that the Italian ambassador was being held hostage.

Pulling his pistol off his belt d’Artagnan loaded it quickly, just as the others had taught him. Then he waited for silence before pushing his back against the cart and peeking around the side. The second he saw a figure with a gun in one of the windows he fired and then ducked behind the cart once more to protect himself. He fumbled to reload the gun, hoping that he had managed to at least hit the man. Adrenaline was pumping his blood rapidly around his body but he tried to keep his hands under control, just like the others had taught him.

He heard more gun-shots and then Athos was yelling his name.

“I’m here!” d’Artagnan shouted back, hoping to give his position away to just his friends and not to the kidnappers.

“Cover me!” Athos barked which made d’Artagnan panic a little more and he hurried to reload the gun. Athos was obviously planning to move forward and needed his help.

So d’Artagnan peeked out from behind the cart again, ready to fire the moment he saw anyone move. He could see Athos, not far to his left, sneaking out from behind some barrels to creep towards the building. D’Artagnan spotted movement and raised his gun to fire when there was a bang and the gun flew out of his hand. Crying out in pain he gripped his fingers with his other hand tightly. He grimaced for a few seconds before he forced himself to remove his grip and look. Blood was pouring from a couple of his fingers but there was nothing hanging off. They both looked intact, just with chunks of skin ripped off. It could have been worse.

D’Artagnan quickly looked around for his pistol only to discover that it had flown behind some crates. He began to crawl backwards, holding his bleeding hand close to his chest, hoping to retrieve the pistol quickly without being spotted, when a small arm reached out and picked it up. D’Artagnan from his position couldn’t see the child who owned the arm but the fact that a child had been caught up in the middle of the battle was enough to make his stomach churn.

“Hey,” he whispered, inching even closer and around the crates. What he saw on the other side shocked him. A young boy of around nine or ten was holding the pistol carefully in his hands. He had a mop of curly black hair and terrified dark brown eyes which looked up at d’Artagnan as he came closer. Then the boy lifted the gun up and pointed it straight at d’Artagnan.

“Woah, woah,” d’Artagnan said and raised his arms in defence, even his bloody hand. “It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The boy didn’t seem convinced and his arms remained steady as he continued to point the chamber right at d’Artagnan’s head.

“I’m a Musketeer,” d’Artagnan explained. “Put the pistol down and I’ll help you get out of here.”

The handsome little lad was a spitting image of Aramis but d’Artagnan tried not to let that distract him. What did distract him was more gun-fire and they both ducked as someone managed to put a bullet into the crates they were hiding behind. D’Artagnan didn’t have time for this, he was meant to be helping Athos. But, before d’Artagnan could do anything about it, the little boy suddenly stood up from behind the crates and aimed his gun at the building in front of them.

“What are you…” d’Artagnan’s cries were silenced by the loud firing of the gun. D’Artagnan stole a quick look and saw a man the boy had been aiming for up on the balcony cower, the bullet hitting the wooden beams just above his head. D’Artagnan gasped and jumped forward, snatching the smoking pistol out of the boy’s hand before he could do anything further.

The little boy slumped back down onto his knees and suddenly looked frightened, like he was assuming that d’Artagnan would yell. D’Artagnan wasn’t sure what to do. He was angry that the boy had used his pistol but he couldn’t deny that it was a good shot.

“Don’t do that,” d’Artagnan said firmly because he didn’t know what else to say. The boy smiled in relief. A smile that filled his face and made dimples appear on his cheeks. Dear god, he _was_ Aramis.

“Stay down,” d’Artagnan warned him. “Where are your parents?”

The little boy shrugged. “I-I went out to fetch some bread.” He pulled something out of his pocket and produced a couple of coins. D’Artagnan sighed. He needed to get the boy back to safety but he also had no-idea where the others were. He closed the boy’s fist over the coins and gave the small hand a squeeze.

“Stay close to me,” he requested and turned around, moving back behind the cart because he could see better from there. The boy followed, crawling on his hands and knees. When they both stopped and sat back down, the boy dug his hand into his pocket again and produced a white handkerchief. D’Artagnan was about to ask what he was doing when the boy grabbed his arm and started wrapping the handkerchief around his injured fingers.

“You need to stop the dirt from getting in,” the boy explained. “Otherwise they’ll get infected and your fingers will drop off.”

D’Artagnan appreciated the gesture because he wasn’t too keen on the idea of anything dropping off.

“Thank you,” he said to the lad.

“D’Artagnan!” Athos was yelling his name again but this time he sounded further away. “Follow us in!”

D’Artagnan looked down at the boy who was staring up at him with the big brown eyes.

“Hide out here,” he requested. Whilst he wasn’t certain that the street was now safe, it was safer than what would be waiting for them inside the building.

D’Artagnan hooked his pistol back onto his belt and pulled out his sword, emerging from his hiding place just in time to see the back of Porthos disappear into the doorway. He raced forward to join his friends. He heard the noise of swords clashing from within the building so knew that they had met some resistance. D’Artagnan was keen to join in.

Once inside, d’Artagnan soon caught up with the others. Clearly they were in the right building, armed men wouldn’t normally occupy such a place. He soon found himself battling one man who was slashing with his sword wildly, d’Artagnan quickly won the fight and the man dropped to the ground. Other men obviously weren’t being paid enough because they started escaping from the building through windows and side-doors. It wasn’t long before he heard a cry of ‘found him!’ coming from Aramis up ahead. Then Athos and Porthos were dashing back past d’Artagnan, chasing after the men.

“What are you doing?” d’Artagnan called after them.

“Giving chase!” they yelled back. D’Artagnan followed and soon found himself back outside where he promptly ran into Porthos’, not expecting the large man to have suddenly stopped. When d’Artagnan discovered why he had stopped he gasped. One of the hostage takers had the little boy in his arms and he was holding him high off the ground. He had a dagger pressed against the boy’s throat.

“No,” d’Artagnanc cried and automatically moved around Porthos to get to them but Porthos pulled him back. Athos was already speaking.

“You are already in trouble for kidnapping the ambassador. Do _not_ make this worse for yourself,” Athos said firmly. The man’s eyes darted between the three of them as the little boy grimaced and kicked his legs about wildly in the air.

“Then let me go!” The man growled.

D’Artagnan put his hand up, he wasn’t looking at the man but at the boy. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Don’t be scared.”

“Give us the child,” Athos requested.

“Then you’ll chase me and kill me,” the man spat and squeezed the boy harder against his chest. The boy whimpered.

“Let him go!” D’Artagnan yelled. “Or I swear to god that, when we do hunt you down, I will not let you die quickly.”

The man looked flustered. He looked like he was about to do something stupid but then he yelled. The boy had bitten into his hand hard enough to draw blood. His grip slipped a little just as the boy swung his leg back and kicked him hard in the shin. The man yelled again and dropped the boy to the ground. All three of them darted forward, d’Artagnan grabbed the child and pulled him away as both Athos and Porthos jumped on the man.

D’Artagnan didn’t realise how tightly he was gripping onto the lad until the boy tried to wiggle and move. D’Artagnan loosened his grip and stroked back some of the unruly curls to check the kid was alright. He looked scared but he appeared to be physically unhurt.

“Tristian!” He heard the scream of a female voice and the boy automatically looked up.

“Mama?!”

D’Artagnan turned and saw a pretty woman with bright red-head racing towards them. The boy broke free of d’Artagnan’s grip and went racing off towards her. They slammed into each other as the woman fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around her son tightly.

D’Artagnan got up feeling relieved and slowly went over to them both. The mother was already telling the lad off in the way that only mothers could, with her hands on either side of his head.

“I told you to get the bread and come straight home! What were you even doing here?! I was so worried when you didn’t come home and then I heard people talking about gunshots.” She stroked his hair back and then kissed his cheek before burying her face against it, saying nothing more as she squeezed him tightly.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Tristian was saying, cuddling his mother back.

D’Artagnan wondered if he should say something as he stood and watched over the pair of them. Then a man appeared, with light blonde hair and a dirty blonde beard. Tall and broad but with a friendly look about him.

“You found my son,” he said and immediately grabbed d’Artagnan’s hand to give it a shake. D’Artagnan had no choice but to shake the hand back, the man was strong and clearly very grateful.

“Papa!” The boy cried happily. Then, as his wife stood up, still holding onto Tristian, the man engulfed them both in his big arms.

“What were you doing this far from the market?” The father asked, clearly as relieved as he was angry.

“I was fighting dragons,” Tristian informed his father as he was hugged to death.

The man sighed but then smiled before turning his attention to d’Artagnan once more and saying, “Thank you.”

D’Artagnan nodded and, satisfied that the boy was now safe, he began walking back to the others. It was only when he had taken a few steps that he paused to look back. The mother had fiery red-hair and green eyes. The father had blonde hair and blue eyes. Their child looked nothing like either of them. It seemed odd and, yet, the boy was clearly loved so d’Artagnan thought nothing more about the boy who looked like Aramis until a couple of weeks later when the same boy turned up at the garrison, wearing large brown boots which went up to his knees, a belt with a wooden sword dangling against his hip and a brown hat far too large for him which balanced precariously on his head.

“I have come to join the Musketeers,” young Tristian announced after marching into the garrison and standing right in front of d’Artagnan.

“Ah,” D’Artagnan said, suddenly understanding the interesting and rather adorable outfit. “I’m afraid that may prove to be a little difficult on account of your age.”

The boy’s shoulders sunk and he looked a little deflated for a moment before a stubborn frown developed on his face. “But I must,” he abruptly insisted. “Please take me to your Captain.”

“Why?” d’Artagnan asked and noticed someone approach over his shoulder. He turned to discover Porthos walking closer with a look of amusement on his face.

“Aramis has shrunk,” Porthos said before laughing at his own comment. Tristian ignored Porthos, the name would have meant nothing to him anyway.

“Because Liliane Cabella says that she won’t marry me because I am not a prince, a baker or a Musketeer. I will never be a prince and I cannot bake so, therefore, I must become a Musketeer.”

“Ah,” D’Artagnan repeated again. The little boy’s determination finally making sense now that he had an explanation.

“It really is Aramis,” Porthos muttered from behind.

D’Artagnan took a step closer and then got down onto his knee to be closer to the height of the mini-Musketeer.

“Tristian, perhaps you should find a nice girl who isn’t so…demanding?” d’Artagnan suggested, trying to be helpful. Only the suggested seemed to shock the boy who gasped.

“But Liliane Cabella is the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. And she is sweet and generous. She gave me _two_ free apples from her father’s market stall last week.”

D’Artagnan nodded and understood. The boy was in love, there wasn’t anything he could do.

“We should take ‘im to the Captain,” Prothos suggested. “He was in a good mood earlier, it’ll be funny.”

D’Artagnan gave Porthos a glare over his shoulder as he stood himself back up and brushed the dirt from his knee. He was about to protest but it seemed that Porthos had already made his mind up.

“Come on, little Musketeer,” Porthos encouraged and started walking towards the steps. “Now you must remember your manners, Captain Treville is a very busy man.”

Tristian grinned and nodded, then ran to catch up with Porthos. D’Artagnan thought that it was a terribly bad idea but, as he also felt partly responsible, he followed the two of them up and soon found himself standing in Treville’s office.

“Hat,” Porthos whispered out of the corner of his mouth and Tristian gasped, immediately removing his hat and then moving forward towards the desk where he bowed respectfully. Treville watched the boy and looked very confused.

“Hear him out, Captain,” Porthos requested, towering over the little lad as he stood behind him.

“Captain,” Tristian began, clutching the big hat against his stomach, not showing any sign of nerves despite standing in front of the captain of the Musketeers. “I have come to join the Musketeers.”

“Have you now?” Treville asked, probably whilst he was trying to understand what was going on. “And why is this?”

“My reasons are my own,” Tristian announced with made both Porthos and d’Artagnan snort in amusement. Treville, however, was starting to look less entertained.

“I’m afraid there are rules, young man. The first being that you have to be taller than a musket.”

“But, Captain...” Rather forgetting himself, Tristian jumped forward towards the desk and slapped his hat down onto it. “I must join the Musketeers. Otherwise the girl I’m in love with will marry someone else!”

Treville sat up a little straighter. At first he stared at the hat, obviously not pleased that it was on his desk, but then he turned his attention to the boy.

“How old is this girl you love?”

“She will be ten in November,” Tristian informed him.

“And how old are you?”

“Ten years, two months and four days.”

Treville went quiet for a while which d’Artagnan assumed meant they were about to all be kicked out but, surprisingly, Treville’s face softened.

“I’m afraid you cannot be an official musketeer until you’re older, however, I may consider giving you the title of honourary Musketeer.”

Tristian’s face lit up immediately.

“Having said that there are certain rules,” Treville continued, sounding very serious about the matter. “If you are an honourary Musketeer you must be honest, kind and generous. You must respect your parents and do whatever they ask of you. You must work hard at your studies and learn to read and write. Do you think you can follow these rules?”

“Yes!” The boy announced happily, bouncing a little on his feet. “I already do all of those things…sometimes.”

Treville almost smiled. “Well, there is one more thing. There’s an important challenge you must face before you can become an honourary Musketeer. You must defeat the most fearsome and skillful swordsman that the regiment has to offer…” Tristian suddenly wasn’t smiling anymore, his eyes were wide and went even wider still when Treville whispered the name like it was some well-kept secret. “…Athos.”

“Athos…” Tristian repeated in a whisper, his face displaying a sense of awe at the name.

“But,” Treville continued, dipping his quill into the ink. “…he isn’t here today so you will have to come back tomorrow with your mother.” The last sentence made Tristian pout which caused Treville to look at him sternly. “There will be no duel unless your mother is present. Now go home before it gets dark.”

Tristian suddenly seemed happy about everything and spun around, grinning madly at the other two and then racing out of the office.

“I must go and practice!” he yelled loudly as he placed his hat back onto his head and held onto it tightly whilst running down the steps and out of the garrison, leaving Porthos laughing.

The following day no-one had informed Athos about his impending battle so, when Tristian turned up holding hands with his mother, d’Artagnan suddenly felt incredibly guilty and was grateful when Porthos took the lead and, therefore by default, probably part of the blame.

“Oh yes! Athos, forgot to tell you, you have a duel today.”

“A duel?” Athos asked confused as he finished off his breakfast. Porthos nodded over to the entrance of the garrison and Athos turned to look. He paused for a moment.

“Am I fighting the child or the mother? Perhaps both at the same time?” he asked dryly.

D’Artagnan got up off the bench and went over to politely greet their visitors. Tristian’s mother smiled when she saw him approach, obviously relieved to spot a familiar face.

“I am _so_ sorry,” she immediately said.

D’Artagnan chuckled. “It’s fine, honestly. The Captain didn’t mind. Are you happy for this to happen?” He leaned a little closer to her before whispering. “I promise no harm will come to him.”

“I don’t have a choice,” she said with a sigh and then another smile. “If you had a son as stubborn as this one, you’d understand.”

D’Artagnan felt relieved that they hadn’t upset her. “Come on then, Tristian. Are you ready to face Athos?”

Tristian nodded although, truth be told, he looked a little afraid. Not quite the cocksure youngster who had stormed into the garrison the day before. D’Artagnan held out his hand and Tristian took it, then he guided the boy over to the bench to meet the others. Athos and Tristian had seen each other briefly before but he wasn’t sure that either of them would remember.

“Tristian, you already know Porthos. This is Aramis and this is Athos. Everyone, this is Tristian.”

Aramis nodded his greeting at the boy but did seem rather surprised. D’Artagnan suddenly remembered about the resemblance and didn’t blame him. Even Athos noticed it, looking from Tristian to Aramis and then back again.

“And I am fighting a child because?” Athos eventually asked.

“If he wins then he becomes an honourary Musketeer,” d’Artagnan informed him. “If you win, then he has to come back next year. Captain Treville’s orders.” He was half making the rules up as he went along but he didn’t think Captain Treville would mind. Athos glanced upwards and d’Artagnan followed his stare. Treville was on the balcony looking down at them all and winked at Athos. Athos frowned back.

“This is utterly ridiculous,” he announced but began removing his hat and coat anyway. “For the love of god, someone fetch me a wooden sword or something.”

Aramis got up and slowly disappeared off towards the armoury, still not really able to take his eyes off Tristian until the last second. D’Artagnan lifted Tristian up onto the bench and began to remove his hat and jacket.

“You can kick and bite him as much as you like,” d’Artagnan informed the little lad. “He can’t do that to you, so you might as well take advantage of that fact.”

Tristian was listening carefully and nodding.

“You did practice, didn’t you?” d’Artagnan asked.

Tristian continued to nod, “Yes, as late as I could until I broke a plant pot and mama ordered me to bed.”

D’Artagnan laughed. “Then you’ll be fine. You just have to believe in yourself. Athos is a great swordsman but he can be beaten.”

Tristian nodded again and, once d’Artagnan had stripped him down to his breeches, boots and shirt, he lifted Tristian once more to put him back onto the ground. Tristian pulled his wooden sword out of his belt and strolled into the middle of the courtyard.

Athos was still muttering something under his breath as he removed his scarf. Eventually Aramis re-emerged and handed Athos a short blunt sword which they sometimes made the new recruits practice with.

“It was the best I could do,” he shrugged apologetically. Athos just snatched it out of Aramis’ hand and stormed off to follow the boy.

“Come on, Tristian!” D’Artagnan cried as Athos turned to face the little boy with a scowl. Tristian cowered a little at first but then took in a deep breath and stood there bravely and bowed. Athos, rather surprised at the show of manners, bowed back and then raised his short sword.

What Tristian lacked in skill he certainly made up for in enthusiasm. He kept on charging at Athos and trying to hit him with his sword then running away again before Athos could get him. It was crude and unskilled but it was working, Athos was quickly getting frustrated with it.

D’Artagnan couldn’t control his laughter and briefly noticed that Aramis had gone over to talk to Tristian’s mother. Porthos was laughing too, occasionally shouting out advice to the boy which mostly included suggestions such as ‘kick him!’ and ‘hit him harder!’

Then, rather out of the blue, Tristian displayed quite an impressive move. He knocked Athos’ sword out of the way, spun around and poked Athos in the back with his wooden stick. Athos even jumped at the sudden poke and held his sore back as the boy ran off again.

D’Artagnan could tell that Athos was itching to give the boy a bit of advice but was obviously biting his tongue because it was a duel and not a lesson. When Tristian moved towards Athos again he once showed off more remarkable sword-skills. He managed to block Athos a couple of times before he followed Porthos’ advice and kicked Athos in the shins. Athos cried out and started hopping away. Sensing his opportunity, Tristian pounced and jumped on Athos, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

Suddenly Porthos’ laugh became even more raucous and other Musketeers came over to watch Athos being wrestled to the ground by a small boy. It wasn’t long before Athos was lying splayed underneath the child who had scrambled to his feet and was standing triumphantly over him, pushing the point of his wooden sword against Athos’ chest.

“Do you yield?” Tristian asked to which Athos nodded. He was clearly not enjoying the humiliation but he understood the role had to play; the great swordsman, defeated by a small boy. Tristian gasped and dropped his sword, turning back to look at his mother, his curls now sticking up in all sorts of crazy directions.

“Mama, I did it!!” he cheered and clambered off Athos to race back over to his mother. D’Artagnan smiled as he watched Tristian run into his mother’s arms and then he noticed Aramis who was standing next to them. Aramis was as white as a sheet. In fact he covered his mouth with his hand as Tristian came over and stumbled backwards. D’Artagnan frowned and felt concerned, wondering if Aramis was ill. He was about to go after to ask but the bouncing happy child was soon upon him, hugging d’Artagnan around the waist with glee.

“I did it! I’m a Musketeer like you!”

“Yes, you did do it,” d’Artagnan smiled, glancing up to look at Aramis again but then realising that he had to congratulate the child first. “Well done, Tristian.” He rubbed at the curls. “You defeated the great Athos.” Suddenly Tristian was gone, running off to hug someone else. However, by that time, Aramis had disappeared somewhere. D’Artagnan looked around confused but couldn’t see him so d’Artagnan slowly walked over to Tristian’s mother.

“He’s quite the fighter,” he said once he was close, telling himself that perhaps he was concerned about Aramis over nothing. “And he’s a great boy.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. “I was just telling your friend how special he is to us. I am unable to carry children so when we were asked to take him it felt like a real gift from God.”

D’Artagnan smiled and nodded. That explained the differences in the features then. Still worried about Aramis but unable to locate him, d’Artagnan turned in time to see Porthos spinning Tristian around and Captain Treville walking down the steps with something in his hand. When Porthos noticed he put Tristian back down and held his arm out to Athos to pull him up. Porthos was still laughing but now, at least, Athos was starting to smile a little as well. Treville went up to Tristian and knelt down in front of him.

“Congratulations,” he told the boy. “You are now an honourary Musketeer.” He placed a leather band around the boy’s arm and tied it in place. The band had a small fleur de lis etched into it. Tristian looked so happy.

When the spectacle had died down, Tristian and his mother left and Treville ordered everyone to do some proper Musketeer work. So d’Artagnan finally had the opportunity to search for Aramis. He eventually found him hiding in the kitchen, sitting with his back against the wall and still looking ill. D’Artagnan glanced over at Serge who just shrugged.

“Aramis, what’s the matter?” he asked, getting down to sit beside Aramis. Before he had to a chance to do much else Aramis reached out and grabbed his shirt, tugging on it roughly.

“That boy…” Aramis babbled. “That boy…I think he’s…he can’t be…but I think he might be…”

“What are you trying to say?” d’Artagnan encouraged, trying not to fall onto Aramis as the man continued his grip on his shirt.

“She said that the nuns at the Blessed Claire of Rimini convent gave them the boy ten years ago,” Aramis finally looked at him, staring right into d’Artagnan’s eyes. “I think…I think he’s my son.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning - minor character death

“Are you certain?” d’Artagnan asked, moving to sit down before he fell onto Aramis’ lap.

Aramis nodded frantically. “I was once in love with a young woman called Isabelle. She became pregnant but she told me that she lost the baby before she disappeared. I believed that her father took her away, only I have since discovered that it was her decision to leave and she went to a convent to become a nun. The Blessed…”

“…Claire of Rimini,” d’Artagnan interjected. He could already see where the story was going but he wanted to hold Aramis back from jumping to conclusions. “It isn’t unusual for many scared pregnant girls to seek refuge in convents, Aramis. It doesn’t mean that Tristian is….”

“Look at him,” Aramis said as it was his turn to interrupt. “He’s the right age, it was the same convent and you look at him and tell me that he isn’t my son.”

Aramis’ eyes were searching and d’Artagnan found himself with nothing to say. Aramis had a point, the boy was a spitting image of Aramis. D’Artagnan didn’t want it to be true for Aramis’ sake but he couldn’t deny the fact that it was looking quite likely that it was. They both stayed silent for a while, Serge was banging pots and pans behind them but mostly likely wasn’t listening to their conversation.

D’Artagnan eventually sighed, desperately trying to come up with something helpful to say. What would Athos do? He questioned. He thought for a moment and eventually came up with an answer.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if there weren’t twelve mini-Aramis’ running around France but, why does it matter? The boy has two parents who love him very much. The only parents he knows. You might be his father, Aramis, but you can’t do anything about it.”

The words seemed to hurt Aramis and he immediately flinched and lowered his face. D’Artagnan sighed and felt bad so silenced the Athos voice inside his head for a moment.

“I mean…I’m sorry but you’re a Musketeer and he has a mother and a father. He’s in the best place. If he is your son then he’s being well looked after and loved very much.”

There was a long pause before Aramis, still staring down at his lap, nodded. “He is,” he said quietly.

D’Artagnan felt relieved. Aramis wasn’t the easiest person to make see sense but it felt like d'Artagnan had managed to achieve just that, all on his own. He sat with Aramis for a while, allowing the other man time to think.

Eventually Aramis lifted up his head again.

“D’Artagnan, don’t tell the others,” he requested which immediately made d’Artagnan sigh. Whenever Aramis asked him to keep something a secret it didn’t usually end well. Still, what would telling the others achieve? Aramis would just get the same ‘stay away’ lecture from them and d’Artagnan was quite satisfied that he had done that successfully already.

“Alright, I promise,” he assured his friend.

Aramis smiled, although it didn’t quite cover his face like his smiles usually did. Then he gave d’Artagnan a pat on the shoulder. D’Artagnan stayed sitting on the floor as Aramis got back up to his feet and started walking out of the kitchen. Once Aramis had gone d’Artagnan started to realise that he had just been played. He had promised not to tell the others but Aramis never promised to stay away from the boy.

\------------------------------------

Porthos was sitting alone in the garrison one morning because he had injured his back a couple of days before and it was stopping him from getting a good night’s sleep. So he had decided that an early breakfast would be better than tossing and turning in bed trying to get comfortable. Only, much to his surprise, he wasn’t alone for a long. Someone climbed up onto the bench and sat beside him, someone very short.

“Tristian?” Porthos smiled warmly at the mini-Musketeer. It had been a whole month since he’d last seen the boy and Tristian still had his hat which he still hadn’t grown into.

Tristian sighed and just stared at the food in front of him, looking like he had a lot on his mind. Porthos was curious as to what had put the sad look on the little lad’s face but decided to feed him first. He reached out and placed some bread, cheese and grapes onto a plate, sliding it in front of the boy. The boy did seem to seem a little happier when he reached out and started shoving grapes into his mouth.

“What’s the matter?” Porthos asked once the boy had some food in his belly. Tristian chewed his food and waited until he had swallowed before he spoke.

“Mama is poorly,” he explained and suddenly the impromptus visit and the sad expression all made sense.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Porthos said sympathetically. Wondering just how ‘poorly’ the woman was but knowing that a ten year old probably wouldn’t even understand. “Won’t your father be worried about where you are?” Porthos asked, just to check.

Tristan shook his head as he picked at the bread. “He is too worried about Mama to think of me.”

“Hmm well, even so, once you’ve eaten a bit of breakfast I think I should take you back.”

Tristian didn’t argue, he just nodded. Porthos put more grapes onto the plate considering the boy seemed to like grapes so much. It wasn’t long before Athos came over to join them but he was eyeing Tristian up suspiciously like he was worried Tristian might be a Spanish spy.

“His mother is sick,” Porthos explained and Athos glared at him with a ‘don’t get involved’ type look which Porthos ignored, like they always did when Athos gave them that look.

Once Tristian had his fill of grapes and bread Porthos suggested that it was time to go home. Tristian climbed off the bench, immediately reaching out for Porthos’ hand which Porthos took.

“Don’t be long,” Athos warned. Porthos politely ignored him.

“You’ll have to show me where you live because I don’t even know,” Porthos said and Tristian nodded, not letting go of Porthos’ hand the entire journey. Not that Tristian lived far away as it turned out but it was enough time for Tristian to tell Porthos all about how he had been practicing using his sword so he could fight Athos again one day and win even faster.

When they got to the house they almost bumped into a doctor who was leaving. The doctor nodded courteously at them but then hurried away. Porthos didn’t like the look the doctor had on his face, it was one of despondency.

“Hello?” Porthos called when they stepped inside the open door. He didn’t want to just walk in without warning Tristian’s father that they were there.

The house was pleasant enough. Small but a lot of effort had clearly been put into making sure it felt homely. There were flowers, paintings and well looked after oak furniture.

“Hello?” Porthos called again. “I found your son.”

Tristian was still holding onto Porthos’ hand when a male voice came from up the stairs.

“Up here!”

Porthos looked down at the boy who was staring up at him, his eyes wide with nerves and worry. Porthos got down and knelt in front of him.

“Hey, you need to be strong now. You do remember what Captain Treville told you about being a Musketeer, don’t you?”

Tristian nodded. “Be honest, kind, generous and respect my parents,” the boy repeated, almost getting it right almost word for word. Porthos smiled and gave the little lad’s shoulder a squeeze before taking his hand again and they both went upstairs.

Tristian stayed behind Porthos as he found the bedroom where Tristian’s mother lay in bed looking terribly ill. She was pale apart from her cheeks which were burning in a fever and sweat was pouring down the side of her temples. She wheezed loudly as she tried to breathe in her unconscious state. Tristian’s father was sitting beside her, mopping the sweat from her brow with a wet cloth. He turned and immediately looked relieved when he saw his son.

“Where did you go?” he asked. Porthos felt Tristian’s hand shaking in his own before he pulled his hand out of Porthos’ and ran over to his father, immediately flinging himself into his father’s arms, his hat flying off in the process. His father dropped the cloth for a moment and held Tristian tightly. He slowly looked up at Porthos.

“Thank you for bringing him back.”

“No worries,” Porthos said. “He came to the garrison for breakfast.”

The father nodded and kissed the top of his son’s curls. “I’m sorry. I should have been keeping an eye on him but I had to call the doctor early. She seemed to be struggling to breathe and I…”

The sentence seemed to trail off and Porthos looked back at the woman in the bed. His heart ached for her and for her family.

“What did the doctor say?”

The man seemed to pause for a moment, bringing his hand up to stroke Tristian’s hair for a minute before pulling his son back and smiling at him warmly.

“Why don’t you go and get that story you wrote about your adventures with the Musketeers, Tristian? I’m sure this Musketeer would enjoy it and I know your mother would love to hear it again.”

Tristian nodded and removed himself from his father’s arms before racing out of the room. The man waited until his son was gone before looking back at Porthos.

“The doctor said that the illness is in her lungs. There isn’t a lot he can do. He gave me a lotion to rub onto her chest but…” The man sighed in a way that Porthos could see his heart breaking. “…nothing seems to be working and I can’t afford to keep fetching for the doctor.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Porthos said immediately, stepping forward a little. “I can ask the physician we use to come and visit if we need to. I’m Porthos by the way.”

“Julien,” the man said and stood for a moment to shake Porthos’ hand. “Elaina told me all about how kind you soldiers were to Tristian. I can’t thank you enough. He talks about you all of the time.”

“We didn’t do anything really,” Porthos explained. “Just humoured him.”

“When it comes to a ten year old boy and his dreams, that is enough,” Julien explained and sat back down again.

Tristian soon re-appeared with some paper in his hands full of scribbled messy writing and pictures. Porthos sat down on a chair as Tristian read out his story to Porthos with actions and everything. Porthos was incredibly impressed. He thought that it sounded like a proper story written by a proper author; with a few somewhat unrealistic heroic fight scenes thrown in for good measure where Tristian always helped them save the day. Porthos found it somewhat amusing that it was usually Athos who appeared to need the most rescuing.

When Porthos eventually left the house to head back to the garrison he quickly came across a rather unexpected sight. Aramis was leaning against the wall of a nearby building looking very lost in his own thoughts. In fact he barely seemed to register Porthos approaching until he was close enough to make Aramis jump.

“Porthos!” he said, as if completely surprised by his presence. “What are you…hello.”

Porthos eyed him suspiciously, wondering why he was all the way out in the streets of Paris and not back in the garrison. Suspecting that he wouldn’t get an honest answer, Porthos started walking back towards the garrison and Aramis followed him.

“What are you doing out there?” Aramis asked curiously.

“Our honourary Musketeer came to visit the garrison so I took him home. Why are you out here?” Porthos figured he was entitled to ask as Aramis had asked.

“I was going for a walk,” Aramis said which Porthos immediately knew was bullshit.

“Did your walk begin between the legs of a beautiful woman?” he teased, only Aramis didn’t seem to be in the mood for teasing.

“How is the boy?”

Porthos shrugged. “His mother is dying, so he’s not so great. I told his father that, if they can’t afford to get the doctor again, then we could send a physician.”

“They need money?” Aramis asked, sounding very curious.

“I think they need your prayers more than anything, Aramis.”

Aramis sighed and his shoulders sunk.

\----------------------------

“Athos,” Porthos said, when they were all walking away from Treville’s office after receiving their duties for the next couple of days. “Once we’ve finished at the palace, I might pop by and visit Tristian and his parents.”

“Do whatever you like,” Athos muttered, having long since given up trying to stop Porthos from getting involved because the man was well and truly already involved; he had been to visit Tristian twice a day for the past three days.

D’Artagnan shot a quick glance over at Aramis but Aramis wasn’t showing any sign of being particularly interested. Although d’Artagnan had heard Aramis ask Porthos for updates and he couldn’t blame Aramis for wanting to know what was happening because d’Artagnan had been curious as well. Poor Tristian, it didn’t sound good. His mother seemed to be getting weaker by the day. They could no longer get her to even eat or drink so it wouldn’t be long….d’Artagnan didn’t even want to think about it.

Everyone was quiet during their duty at the palace and then the heavens opening, throwing bucket loads of rain down at them which did nothing to raise any of their spirits.

By the time they had ridden back they were all cold and drenched, yet Porthos was still going on about going to see Tristian. Only, when they arrived back to the garrison, they found Treville standing there in the mud, the rain pouring off his hat. He had his hands on the shoulders of a boy and, despite the fact the boy was looking down at his feet, they immediately knew who it was. They both looked thoroughly wet, like they had been standing in the rain for a while.

“Tristian,” Porthos whispered but it was Aramis who flung himself off his horse first and quickly ran over.

“What…what…has she…” he was asking Treville and Treville slowly nodded. He didn’t need to say any words because they could all tell from the look on their Captain’s face what had happened.

Aramis gasped and fell to his knees in the mud in front of the boy as if the news had been about his own mother. He held out his arms and Tristian immediately ran into them and let go of the tears had he obviously been holding back. His arms flung around Aramis’ neck and he clung on tightly as he wailed. Aramis held him firmly against his chest and let his own tears spill amongst the rain drops rolling down his face. Then Porthos slid off his horse and walked over.

“Why?” he was saying quietly as he looked at Aramis and Tristian. “Why do bad things happen to such good people?”

Treville reached out and patted his back sympathetically. “You need to take him home,” he encouraged. “I said we’d wait for you but then he had to go home. I couldn’t even get him to wait in my office, stubborn little thing. Take him back, Porthos.”

Porthos nodded. Treville walked off leaving the four of them to it. Only Athos just started guiding the horses towards the stables with the help of a stable boy who had obediently run out into the rain to assist.

D’Artagnan went over to the others. Tristian had his face buried in Aramis’ shoulder as the boy cried with heart-breaking sobs. Aramis was whispering things into his ear, so quietly that d’Artagnan couldn’t hear over the drumming of the rain.

They all stood in the downpour, not really knowing what else to do. After a few minutes though Porthos stepped forwards towards Aramis and the boy.

“We need to take him home,” he said calmly. Aramis stood up slowly, not letting go of Tristian, picking the lad up in his arms. Tristian wrapped his legs around Aramis and seemed quite content clinging onto the Musketeer.

“He’s cold,” Aramis said and started walking across the courtyard towards his room.

“Aramis!” Porthos called and d’Artagnan started to panic a little. He wasn’t sure if he should stop him.

“What’s he doing?” Porthos asked d’Artangan. D’Artagnan tried to look innocent as they both continued to stand there in the rain. Porthos eventually grunted and followed Aramis, d’Artagnan sighed and went off after Porthos. It wasn’t long before they were all in Aramis’ room. Aramis was pulling Tristian’s wet clothes off and then wrapped the boy up in at least three blankets, sitting him down on a chair.

“Aramis, his father will be worrying about him,” Porthos said, taking off his own hat and trying to shake all the water off.

“Really?” Aramis asked, not looking at Porthos but going over to his fire-place to pile up some logs. “Then where is he? He knows Tristian will be at the garrison. Why hasn’t he come to get him?”

D’Artagnan flinched a little.

“That’s not fair,” Porthos said sternly. “The man has just lost his wife. It’s not for us to judge his behaviour.”

Aramis seemed to ignore Porthos as he continue to make the fire. Tristian just sat on the chair watching, looking incredibly sad.

“Warm him up but then I’m taking him home,” Porthos continued, not giving up. “He needs his father.”

“His father is here!” Aramis suddenly shouted over his shoulder and d’Artagnan gasped without meaning to. He just hadn’t been expecting Aramis to just blurt it out so suddenly. Porthos looked shocked and stared at Aramis’ back for a while.

“W-what does…what does that mean?” he eventually stuttered.

D’Artagnan couldn’t keep quiet any longer. Not with Tristian in the room. “This isn’t a conversation we should be having in front of the boy,” he suggested which made Porthos turn to look at him.

“No” Porthos said, his expression changing from shock to a furious frown and he was looking straight at d’Artagnan. “You and I will have the conversation outside.”

Porthos rather abruptly grabbed d’Artagnan’s and started tugging him outside and back into the rain, thankfully they were shielded by the overhang. D’Artagnan, finding himself in a rather uncomfortable situation, decided that Aramis wouldn’t kill him for breaking his promise now, considering Aramis had just blurted it out anyway.

D’Artagnan wasn’t sure how much Porthos knew about Isabelle and the baby so he decided to start from the beginning of the entire story. He told him about Isabelle, the convent and Tristian’s parents being asked by the nuns to take the baby ten years ago. As d’Artagnan told the story Porthos’ angry expression started to soften. Once D’Artagnan was done Porthos didn’t seem to know what to think. He let out a very loud and a very long sigh.

“He does look ridiculously like him,” he mused.

D’Artagnan nodded, agreeing. “But I told Aramis to stay away because, even if Tristian is his, he has a new family.”

“Yes but now his mother is dead and Aramis seems to think he can compete with the father.”

Porthos was frowning again and d’Artagnan didn’t blame him. It was a difficult situation for everyone but what was Aramis thinking? He couldn’t be a father to Tristan, however much his heart was probably saying otherwise.

“Where’s Athos?” Porthos suddenly asked and d’Artagnan shrugged.

“Do you want me to go and fetch him?”

Porthos thought for a while and sighed again. “No, it’s best Athos doesn’t find out. Come on.”

They both went back into the room where the fire was going and Aramis was kneeling in front of Tristan, holding onto Tristan’s hands which were peeking out from the blankets.

“She is with God now,” Aramis was saying gently. “And she will be up there waiting for you because one day, when you’re very old, you’ll get to be with her again.”

Tristian was looking at Aramis and nodded. “Will there be gardens in heaven? Mama likes flowers.”

Aramis smiled and gave the cold hands a squeeze. “Yes. There will be many beautiful gardens where she can tend to the flowers and go for delightful walks.”

Tristian smiled weakly back and then looked up when he noticed Porthos had come back in. “Porthos!” he cried almost happily. Porthos went over and slowly got down onto his knees close to Aramis.

“Hey, mini-Musketeer,” Porthos said affectionately and reached up to stroke back some of the wet curls. “How you doing?”

“I’m very upset,” Tristian admitted. The happiness on his face at seeing Porthos had quickly disappeared and had been replaced by a level of disappear that no ten year old should ever have on their face.

“I know,” Porthos said sympathetically. “You will be sad for a while.”

“Papa was holding onto her and crying, he wouldn’t let go and wouldn’t stop crying.”

Porthos sighed sorrowfully. His heart broke as much for Julien as it did for young Tristian. He stroked more of the curls and then pulled his hand away.

“Once your clothes are dry we’ll take you back and your father can hold _you_ instead.” Porthos got up, moving to where Aramis had left the wet clothes. He set about trying to hang the clothes close to the fire-place so that they’d dry quicker. As he did so he kept a close eye on Aramis. Aramis was looking troubled and, whilst Porthos had a lot of sympathy, he was prepared to have to be the ‘bad guy’ if it came to it.

Only it didn’t. They all sat with Tristian and tried to comfort him as much as three soldiers could before dressing him again in his dry clothes. Aramis didn’t seem to be fighting it.

“You wanna come?” Porthos asked Aramis once Tristian had his boots on. Aramis obviously thought about it for a moment then shook his head and, with a miserable look, took a step back.

Porthos nodded, he understood. Handing Tristian back over to his other father would be too hard for Aramis, however much it probably made sense somewhere in Aramis’ head. He held his hand out to Tristian who took it without question. It broke Porthos’ heart how trusting the boy was despite everything he had been through.

“You gonna come?” Porthos then asked d’Artagnan who shook his head and decided to stay to make sure that Aramis either went to bed or went out drinking with someone. Porthos seemed to understand that as well. So it was Porthos who took Tristian home.

Porthos found Julien as distraught as he had expected. The body had already been taken away, something they were very good at in Paris to stop disease from spreading. Julian was sitting in a chair with a wine bottle in his hand, taking swigs from it between sentences as he spoke to Porthos. Tristian was sitting on the window-sill, staring at the rain still pouring down outside in the darkness.

“We came to Paris for a new life,” Julien was saying. “I was going to get a good job and we were going to buy a nice big house. Elaina was going to stay at home and continue to teach Tristian. We were even thinking about taking in another child.”

“You could get him into a school,” Porthos was suggesting, trying to come up with a solution as to how Julien could still work down at the fish market whilst being sole parent of Tristian. “There are a few around now that take boys his age and you don’t have to pay. That way you can work during the day and not have to worry ‘bout him.”

Julien nodded slowly. Despite his grief and ever growing drunkenness he was trying to think practically. “I have heard of a good Catholic school nearby. Maybe we could try there?”

“Leave it to me,” Porthos offered. “I’ll have a word with the Priest, see what I can do.”

Julien nodded appreciatively and then looked over at Tristian.

“Would you like to go to school, Tristian?” he asked, obviously trying to sound as normal as he could.

Tristian silently shook his head from side-to-side as he continued to stare of the window.

“You don’t have to worry about it now, huh?” Porthos suggested. Elaina had just died, surely Julien’s boss would give him a few days to grieve? Julien nodded and put the wine down onto a table beside his chair. He sighed and then pushed himself up slowly to stand.

“Come on, son, it’s time we went to bed.” Tristian didn’t seem to move so his father slowly walked over to the window and placed his hand down on the boy’s shoulder gently. “Would you like to sleep in my bed tonight?”

Tristian finally turned his head and looked up at his father, nodding.

The next day Porthos and Aramis, despite Athos getting increasingly annoyed at them, left the training session early to go and visit the Catholic school. Porthos was never really one for religion or school but he tried not to show his dislike of either as they spoke to the Priest in charge. The Priest was quite adamant at first that he had no more room; they already taught more boys than they had originally planned to take in. Porthos was pleased that Aramis had agreed to come because it only took seconds for Aramis to turn on the charm.

Aramis told the Priest about Tristian’s mother and how difficult it would be for Tristian’s father to work if he had to leave Tristian home alone all day. He even mentioned that Tristian’s father had talked of sending Tristian away…which he hadn’t but the Priest didn’t need to know that. They could tell that the Priest’s heart was starting to soften the longer Aramis went on. Eventually he agreed to take Tristian which made their own hearts leap.

Once they had left the school they both started the walk back to the garrison together.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” Porthos said, wanting to encourage Aramis in regards to his behaviour. Helping Julien get Tristian into a school had been very kind.

“Well he’s my son,” Aramis noted. “I want the best for him.”

Porthos nodded a little. Still, whatever the reasons behind why Aramis was helping, he just hoped that Aramis also had the ability to keep his distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Next chapter - When Tristian refuses to go to school Athos is forced to deal with it, Aramis finds it increasingly difficult to stay away and trouble is brewing on the streets of Paris.]


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Warning - Threats of and brief physical violence against a child, not graphic]

Athos had no-idea where the other three were when he arrived at the garrison mid-morning and decided not to care either. He was quite capable of spending time without them, he told him himself, before taking another quick glance around just to make sure that they weren’t there.

After allowing himself to let go of a tiny sigh he grabbed another Musketeer and forced him into some sword-practice despite the heat of the day. The Musketeer looked a little terrified but indulged Athos anyway and was promptly beaten within seconds, again and again until Athos started to sweat and grew tired of the practice. So he told the man that he could go and then noticed that he was being watched. Tristian was sitting on the bench, without his Musketeer uniform this time. In fact he just looked like a normal boy in his black breeches and white shirt. He also looked fed-up.

“Are you not meant to be in school?” Athos asked loud enough so that the boy could hear. Whilst Athos had decided not to get involved with it all, it was impossible not to over-hear some of the conversations the others were having about the boy. So he knew that Tristian had joined a Catholic school a few weeks ago, not long after his mother had died.

“I don’t like it,” Tristian announced and promptly placed his chin down onto his hands as he sulked.

“Ah,” Athos said and pulled his sagging shirt back up over his shoulder. “Why not?” he asked and then cursed himself for it. Don’t get involved, Athos, he promptly told himself.

“Because…” Tristian looked like he was going to say something but then decided against it and just frowned.

Athos slipped his sword back into the scabbard before walking over to the boy and sitting down onto the bench beside him. There they both watched a couple of the other Musketeers training for a while, staying silent until Tristian sat up straight again and spoke.

“I am too small. All of the other boys are bigger than I am.”

Athos turned and looked down at the boy. He was small but Athos had no-idea how he compared to the other boys mostly because Athos knew very little about children.

“Well you are ten, so you must be one of the youngest, of course you are smaller than they are,” he suggested, trying to be helpful.

“But I’m even the smallest out of the ten year old boys,” Tristian said, making it sound like it was the worst thing in the world. Athos didn’t really understand why being ‘small’ mattered so much. “They said that I will never be a real Musketeer because I am so small.”

Athos immediately snorted. “Nonsense. Height doesn’t matter. Anyway you will grow. I have never been overly tall myself, that hasn’t stopped me.”

Tristian looked up at Athos for a while. In fact he looked for so long that Athos started to feel uncomfortable and shifted on the bench to move away from the child a little bit. When he turned to glance at Tristian again the lad was smiling but only for a second because soon the frown was back.

“They also said that I wasn’t an honourary Musketeer,” Tristian told him. “They said that I was…that I was…” The sentence remained unfinished which frustrated Athos.

“That you were what?” he asked, insisting that the boy tell him.

“That I was a motherless liar.” Tristian’s bottle lip started to tremble and Athos suddenly felt furious.

“They called you a what?!”

Right, that was it. Athos slid off the bench and went to fetch the rest of his uniform which he had removed before the sword-practice.

“Follow me,” he ordered and, in full uniform despite the heat, started walking out of the garrison, assuming that the child would follow, which he did. Athos was half aware that he was walking so fast that Tristian was having to run to keep up with him but he didn’t slow down. He just wanted to get it over and done with because it was hot and he had better things to do.

Once they reached the church Athos shoved the doors open and immediately marched towards the room around the back of altar where he heard a man speaking. The moment he stepped foot inside the room lots of young eyes turned to stare at him. It took the teacher a few more seconds to notice that he no longer had the attention of the class but he eventually followed their eyes to the sight in the doorway.

“May I help you?” The Priest asked, he had a book in his hand and he was looking confused. Athos turned for a moment just to make sure that he hadn’t lost Tristian in his journey. He found the boy standing behind him, panting in exhaustion.

“I have come to apologise because I had to borrow Tristian for some important Musketeer business,” Athos said loudly. “It will not happen in school-time again. My apologies, Father.”

He bowed his head at the Priest and then stepped aside, pushing Tristian forward by the shoulder. The boys sitting down were all staring at them both with their mouths hanging open. Tristian stepped forward, a small smile growing on his face.

“Tristian, come and sit down,” the Priest snapped but it wasn’t the Priest that Tristian was paying attention to, it was the look of awe on the face of the other children. Tristian almost bounced as he went over to sit at the back of the class. Once had had sat down on the floor he grinned over at Athos. Athos nodded at him before walking out, musing about the fact the boy looked even more like Aramis when he smiled like that.

By the time he arrived back at the garrison the others were there and Aramis appeared to be getting coins off them. He had his hand out to d’Artagnan. D’Artagnan looked sceptical but he was digging into his purse anyway and placed a couple of coins into Aramis’ hand.

“I’d better not be funding your trip to a brothel, Aramis,” he warned with a raised eyebrow. The comment made Aramis chuckle.

“I told you what it’s for.”

When Athos came closer Aramis immediately turned to face him with a warm ‘I want something from you’ smile.

“Athos, I’m collecting money to buy a gift for Tristian.”

Athos sighed. He thought that they should be discouraging the boy from turning up at the garrison unannounced not encouraging it. Still, his curiosity got the better of him.

“What are you intending to buy the boy?” he asked.

“A violin,” Aramis explained. “A local musician has offered to teach the boys at the school without payment but they boys have to buy their own instruments. Porthos says that Tristian’s father can’t afford to buy him one, so I thought it would be a nice gift.”

Athos turned his glare to Porthos who was sitting on the bench. The man noticed the glare and shrugged innocently. However, this did provide Athos with an opportunity to express his opinions.

“Whilst I believe that the three of you could have worse hobbies than helping this boy and his father, do you really think it is wise? The boy needs to make friends with children of his own age. He cannot stay friends with a bunch of grown-men forever, especially those who risk their lives on a daily basis. What if something happens to one of us? He has already lost his mother.”

“He will make friends,” Aramis insisted which made Athos think back to the conversation he had with the boy just a short time before and hoped that he had, at least, helped Tristian with that a little. “But I understand your concern and I think it’s very touching.”

Aramis smiled at Athos more which made Athos frown. He hadn’t meant to sound concerned, he had intended to sound irritated. Still, before even realising he was even doing it, Athos handed over some of his drinking money and perhaps a little more than that. Aramis beamed.

“We have enough,” he announced and then starred walking out of the garrison. D’Artagnan quickly got up and followed him. Athos rolled his eyes disapprovingly.

Once inside the music store Aramis immediately marched over to a particular violin which made d’Artagnan realise that Aramis had been in the store before. He already knew which violin he wanted to purchase for his son. It made d’Artagnan feel a little sad for Aramis but he remained silent as they waited for the store owner to come over.

“This is the one which you said would be suitable for a ten year old?” Aramis asked the man which made the store owner nod and talk a little about violins, most of which d’Artagnan wasn’t paying much attention to yet Aramis listened to every word, obviously quite keen to make sure that he purchased the right style and the correct size.

Once the violin was paid for and wrapped in brown paper, Aramis carried it carefully underneath his arm and d’Artagnan followed. He wasn’t even sure why he was following Aramis around and hoped that Aramis wouldn’t think that he didn’t trust him. Aramis, however, didn’t even seem to mind the company and actually chatted to d’Artagnan quite cheerfully about his childhood ambition to be an organ player which never quite happened because he broke into the church one night and played the organ so badly that it woke up all the nuns in the convent next door and Aramis was given quite the telling off by his father, thus prematurely ending his organ playing career.

As Tristian would still be at school Aramis took the violin back to the garrison and there they were all summoned into Treville’s office.

“There has been some trouble in the city recently,” Treville informed them. “A group of thugs going around intimidating people. Then saying that they can protect them from other criminals for a few coins. I don’t really know the ins and outs of it but I just wanted to warn you because they don’t seem to like red guards or Musketeers. The red guards have already been in a few brawls with them and a couple of the Musketeers were harassed the other day.”

“Why are you telling just us, Captain?” Athos asked as it was just the four of them stood in front of the desk.

“Because…” Treville said, eyeing them up somewhat wearily. “…I know how often you lot find yourself in street brawls. So I’m asking you to leave it. The Maréchaussée are aware of the situation and are dealing with it.”

Athos nodded and, once they were dismissed, they all headed back into the courtyard.

“I’m going to investigate,” Athos announced. The news of which made Porthos frown and Aramis roll his eyes. D’Artagnan, however, was quite keen to do whatever Athos suggested.

“You heard the Captain, he told us to leave it,” Porthos pointed out, perhaps quite needlessly as he knew Athos had been standing right beside him in the office. “And that ain’t code for go and investigate.”

“I know,” Athos said and flipped some of his hair out of his face. “Still, we have nothing else to do. Would any of you like to join me?”

D’Artagnan immediately stepped forward with a smile. The other two didn’t move although Porthos at least felt a little torn. Aramis, however, had other things on his mind.

“I need to deliver the violin. Perhaps I’ll join you all later?”

He nodded at them and then strolled off to fetch the instrument. Porthos and d’Artagnan exchanged concerned glances and Porthos silently decided that going with Aramis was more important than investigating the thugs.

When Athos and d’Artagnan started walking out of the garrison together Athos turned to him slightly.

“What’s going on?” he asked, starting to pick up on the fact there was something they weren’t telling him judging by the glances they were all making at each other.

D’Artagnan’s immediate and somewhat guilty sounding response of, ‘Nothing!’ didn’t sooth his concerns.

\-------------------

“This is very kind but you really didn’t have to,” Tristian’s father said over the screeching of the violin. Tristian was enjoying his present, despite the fact he didn’t even know how to play a violin. Still, that wasn’t stopping him from having fun with it. Porthos was chuckling, even though it hurt his ears.

“Think nothing of it,” Aramis said, watching Tristian dance around the room pretending to play a jig. “I don’t want him to miss out.”

Julien eyed Aramis up somewhat suspiciously. It was a look which Porthos noticed and had him slightly worried. He hoped that Julien wouldn’t start to get concerned about their involvement, because he wasn’t sure how Aramis would take it.

Thankfully Tristian managed to distract his father, by jumping over to him, violin and bow still in his hands.

“Listen, father, I’ll play you a beautiful song.”

Julien nodded and smiled at the boy before trying desperately not to cover his ears as the bow scratched at the strings.

“Wonderful!” They all cheered once the song finished, thankfully.

“It’s time for supper,” Julien quickly said before Tristian started playing another one. He took the violin out of Tristian’s hands. “Thank Aramis and Porthos for your gift.”

Tristian smiled and immediately ran over to the Musketeers, hugging them both around the waist tightly. Then he obediently went to sit at the table ready for his supper.

“Are Aramis and Porthos joining us for supper, Papa?” he asked his father, even though he was smiling at Aramis.

“I’m afraid I haven’t made enough,” Julien pointed out as he went to fetch the stew which was cooking over the fire.

Aramis shook his head and brushed away the child’s question. “We’ll eat back at the garrison. Enjoy your evening.”

Aramis nodded at them both and they all said their goodbyes. Outside Porthos decided it was time he checked up on Aramis.

“How you doing with all this?” he asked, curiously. The sigh he got in response rather confirmed his worries.

“It’s hard, Porthos. I want him to know that he is my son. I want to be the one making him stew and keeping him safe. I want to help him with his school-work and teach him how to say his prayers before bed.”

Porthos nodded because he did understand. “I know. I’m sorry that you can’t do all those things with him. At least you get to see him though. Be a part of his life. At least he’s in Paris.”

“Yes,” Aramis nodded. “That is true. It could be much worse. Although I worry that Julien will take him away. He is struggling working and raising Tristian in Paris. He may well go back to the countryside again.”

“Well…” Porthos tried to think of something helpful to say. “…if he does, then we’ll deal with it.”

It was a couple of days later when Julien ran into the garrison to find them. He immediately spotted Porthos talking to Athos at the bottom of the steps and raced over.

“Tristian’s in trouble! They’ve taken him!” he cried.

“What do you mean taken him?” Porthos asked, utterly confused. Julien panted, trying to catch his breath after having run all the way to the garrison.

“Some men. They went to the church and were threatening the Priest. One of them shoved him against a wall or something,” Julien told them, between gasps of air. “The boys tried to fight them off with sticks and rocks. They grabbed Tristian and another boy and left.”

“Which men?” Athos asked firmly.

Julien shook his head furiously, he looked so terribly scared. “I don’t know their names. They’ve been causing a lot of trouble recently. Please, they took my son. The Priest said that Tristian was the one who started fighting the men off. I don’t know what to do. I told the Priest I’d come and get help. I don’t even have a horse. Please, you have to help.”

Athos looked at Porthos and Porthos looked at Athos.

“The Captain told us that the Maréchaussée were dealing with it,” Athos said which caused Porthos to tut and shake his head.

“Like you listened to a word of that.”

They both didn’t need to speak any further words and Julien watched them communicate non-verbally before, at the same time, they both turned and began racing towards the stables.

“Stay here,” Porthos said over his shoulder at the worried father. “Wait for Aramis and d’Artagnan to get back then tell them what happened. Say we’ve gone looking.”

Julien nodded.

\------------------------------

By the time they arrived at the church a small but frantic crowd had gathered. Athos attempted to calm them down enough to get some information but was finding it difficult. One of the mother’s was particularly distressed and wouldn’t even stop wailing. Porthos decided to help his friend out and managed to find the Priest who told Porthos what had happened.

The Priest had witnessed three large men threatening a market-stall owner a couple of days before and had intervened. Those same men had then come to the school to ‘suggest’ to him that he mind his own business in future. Only some of the boys had seen the Priest in peril being pushed up against the wall around the side of the church and attacked the men despite the fact they were half their size. One of them men back-handed one of the boy’s and then the other two grabbed a boy each and left with the boy’s kicking and screaming in their arms.

Porthos immediately patted the Priest on the back and went racing back to find Athos who was still dealing with the crying mother. He looked relieved when Porthos reappeared.

“When you went to investigate, did you find out where they’re from?”

Athos nodded as he grateful let someone else deal with the troubled woman. “Well the rumours suggested that they were from one of the villages just outside Paris; Montgeron.”

“Then that’s where we should go,” Porthos said with a look of pure determination on his face. Athos followed and soon they were both up on their horses and riding hard.

\--------------------------------------

Athos kept low as he crept closer to the voices, making sure that he stayed hidden in the foliage. He nodded over at Porthos who was moving swiftly into position. For a large man Porthos could be very stealth-like when it was called for. Athos settled behind the thick trunk of a tree and listened carefully. Now that he could make out the words he knew that he had found the right men.

“The feisty one is kinda cute, can we keep him?” one of the men asked with a chuckle.

“He’s too much of a handful. Best you keep the one that doesn’t stop crying.”

“You leave him alone!” came the shout of a child, the voice Porthos immediately recognised as belonging to Tristian.

“Or you’ll do what, little thing?” one of the men then questioned.

“I…I…” Tristian appeared to be stumbling over his thoughts. “I’ll beat you in a duel!” He said, as if suddenly coming up with the idea. It made all of the men laugh.

“Yeah? Will you? I doubt that very much. You wouldn’t even be-able to reach me.”

“I will,” the boy said stubbornly. “I’ve beaten Athos of the King’s Musketeers and he is the best swordsman in France.” The men laughed again and Athos felt his pride being slightly wounded at their mockery. Then again, Tristian had rather over-exaggerated. Best in Paris perhaps…

Athos had heard enough. He knew that they needed to get Tristian and the other boy to safety before Tristian got himself into serious trouble.

Pushing himself up he looked over at Porthos. The man looked like he was about to pounce. Athos’ fingers gripped firmer around the handle of his pistol and he nodded at Porthos. Slowly they both moved forward, neither would attack until they could see their targets.

“Wow, then you must be good,” one of them men was teasing. “Tell you what, come over ‘ere then. If you wrestle me to the ground then I’ll let your friend go. If you lose then I’ll give both you an hidin’ so hard you won’t be-able to sit down for a week.”

“As you wish,” they heard Tristian say which made Athos roll his eyes briefly. The child was ridiculously brazen and foolish. “You won’t be-able to hurt me though, because my friends will be here soon.”

“What friends?” another man asked, not the one who had offered up the wrestling match.

“Porthos, Aramis, d’Artagnan, Athos and Captain Treville,” Tristian said the names proudly and something suddenly ached inside Athos’ chest at the belief the boy had in them. He took in a very deep and long breath before peeking out from behind a bush to look. Tristian was standing in front of a man who was even larger than Porthos and had twice the amount of scars over his face. And, whilst the boy’s voice showed no fear, Athos could see his little arms trembling. He glanced around until he could spot the second boy. He was sitting down close to one of the men and appeared to be sobbing.

“Captain Treville, ay? Well he sounds very grand. He sounds like the sort of man who would drop everything to come out into the woods to rescue a little runt like you I’m sure.”

“Yes he would,” Trisitan said, clearly not understanding the sarcasm. “A far more grand man that you are. He would not hit a child.”

“No, really?” The large man almost growled. “I haven’t even hit you yet.” He raised his arm and then smacked Tristian around the face with the back of his hand sending the boy tumbling to the ground. “Now I ‘ave.”

Porthos immediately sprung up, yelled and raced towards the men. Athos, having to quickly jump to action, raised his pistol and aimed at the man who was away from the boys. The bullet hit the man in the chest and he barely flinched but he did fall to the ground in a heap. The second man sitting down jumped up and immediately reached for his sword only he didn’t have the time to grab it as Porthos was soon behind him, wrapping his large arms around the man as he threw him to the ground. Letting Porthos deal with him, Athos raced out from his hiding place and went over the thug who had hit Tristian. Tristian had the sense to stay on the ground as Athos ran towards the man, pulling his sword out, his face full of fury.

\---------------------------

“We should get them home,” Athos said as they walked back towards the horses.

“It’s dark,” Porthos pointed out. “And we’re in the middle of the forest. We only found them because you’re good at tracking and they were loud. Best we wait for the sun to come up before we head back.”

Athos paused and thought about it for a moment. “Won’t their parents be worried?”

“Yes,” Porthos said, he had his hand on the shoulder of the unnamed boy. “But they can worry for another few hours. If we get lost we’ll make them worry for even longer.”

Athos looked at both of the boys and then at Porthos before sighing which was his way of agreeing. Porthos smiled and guided the boys over to the horses. He took the two blankets which were under the horses’ satchels and gave one to each of the boys. Then Porthos led them towards the trees and told them to sit down and rest. He made sure that both of the boys were wrapped up warm. Athos watched him, secretly thinking about what a wonderful father Porthos would make if he was ever given the opportunity to have such a life.

The quiet boy, whom Porthos had now discovered was called Gilbert, promptly fell into an exhausted slumber, curling up against Porthos’ leg. It was only then that Tristian spoke for the first time since being rescued. He already had a nasty bruise forming on his swollen cheekbone.

“Shall I say a pray for those men?” he asked. The question surprised Porthos and he looked over at Athos. Athos, who had also settled beneath a tree not far away, shrugged.

“If you like,” Porthos eventually said. Tristian closed his eyes and pressed his hands together and muttered something quietly to himself. Eventually Tristian settled as well on the other side of Porthos. A few minutes later Porthos began snoring as he lay on his back between the two boys. It was only when Athos was quiet certain that they were all asleep that he allowed his own eyes to close.

Only his own sleep was disturbed by the rustling of leaves. Athos immediately sat up and reached for his sword. The action made the boy standing in front of him jump. Athos sighed and rubbed his tired face with his gloved hand.

“Tristian, go back to sleep,” he said, turning away from the boy who was standing there with his blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Lying on his side Athos closed his eyes once more.

“I thought you might be cold?” Tristian said.

“I am not,” Athos mumbled and folded his arms across his chest as he tried to get comfortable.

“Yes you are, it’s a very cold night,” Tristian insisted and Athos heard more leaves rustle as the boy came closer.

“Tristian, go away,” Athos said firmly, deciding that perhaps he needed to be stricter with the boy. But his words appeared to do nothing to deter the child who came to lie right in front of him, as close as he could. Athos opened his eyes again and watched as the boy wrapped the blanket over them both before resting his head back down on the ground right in front of Athos’ face. Athos didn’t really know what to do; he didn’t often come across people who ignored his orders.

Tristian smiled at Athos then closed his own eyes and curled up onto his side like Athos was, crossing his arms across his chest like Athos had.

Athos frowned but decided to just leave it. The boy would soon be asleep and the sun would be up in a couple of hours. Only the boy didn’t settle, he kept on fidgeting as he tried to get comfortable on the hard ground and Athos could even tell that he was shivering by the way the blanket shook.

So, after trying to ignore it for a while, Athos caved in just because he wanted to get more sleep. He grabbed Tristian’s shirt and tugged him forward. Rolling onto his back, Athos pulled Tristian against his chest. Tristian seemed to freeze in shock for a moment but then appeared happy, rubbing his cheek against the warm chest. Athos rearranged the blanket to cover them both again and Tristian finally stopped moving. It was only a couple of minutes before the boy’s breathing steadied.

Still, Athos lifted his head to check. He stared down at the dark curls and mused about the fact Tristian looked so much like Aramis. Exactly…like…Aramis. And why were the other three so obsessed with this one child? Athos suddenly thought about it; the audacious attitude towards his own safety, the prayers for the men who didn’t deserve them and the care for those around him. Athos’ eyes went wide as something clicked in his head.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Sorry I burnt out a bit with this story but I refuse to leave it unfinished! So here's a happy ending for you.]

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Athos hissed as he watched Porthos crouch down to hold onto Tristian’s chin the following morning, gently examining the bruise on the boy’s cheekbone.

“Tell you what?” Porthos asked, sighing a little at the black and purple mark and then ruffling Tristian’s hair before he stood back up.

“You know full well what,” Athos snapped. He was in no mood for playing games. Porthos stepped closer to his horse, puzzled as to what Athos was talking about.

“No, Athos, I really don’t,” he admitted.

Athos growled. He didn’t want to say it on front of the boy but it couldn’t wait either. He felt furious about their secret. “Tristian and Aramis.”

Porthos seemed to freeze for a moment before slowly turning to look over his shoulder. “Ah,” was all he managed to say but his guilty look said it all.

“I can’t believe you kept it from me,” Athos said again and checked the saddle buckles on his own horse.

“I sorta thought you’d figure it out eventually to be honest. And, look, you have.”

The answer clearly wasn’t a suitable answer as far as Athos was concerned, this was obvious by the way he climbed up onto his horse and then sat here with a frown. Porthos sighed.

“Athos, I can’t have both of them on my horse.”

“Give me the other one then,” Athos retorted. It made Porthos chuckled a little to himself. He assumed the ‘other one’ was Gilbert. Gilbert didn’t seem very keen to share a horse with angry Athos but Porthos assured him that the grumpy leader was friendly once you got to know him. Tristian, sensing Gilbert’s hesitation, offered to ride with Athos but Porthos decided that it was probably best not to change the plan.

So Porthos lifted Tristian up onto his horse and then climbed up behind the boy.

“It’s time we got you back,” Porthos said as he kicked his horse gently and they trotted off. “Did you enjoy your adventure?”

“I don’t know,” Tristian admitted. “I was a little scared to be honest.”

Porthos smiled warmly. “It’s okay to be scared. We all get scared sometimes.”

“Yes,” Tristian said with a nod and twisted to look up at Porthos behind him and whispered, “At least I didn’t wet myself.”

Porthos leaned forward to whisper back, “Yes, that’s very true.”

Tristian talked a lot on the ride back, mostly to Gilbert. He told Gilbert all about the time he had gone to the river with his parents and they had all made boats from sticks and strings then raced them. His boat was winning at first but it got stuck on a rock so his mother’s boat won. Then he told Gilbert about the chickens which used to walk around the village where they used to live before they came to Paris. He told them all the names of the chickens and the personality of the chickens. Porthos listened the entire time, it wasn’t dissimilar to Aramis waffling on whenever they went on a long journey together. The sound of someone talking constantly was oddly comforting.

Just as they re-entered Paris they came across two familiar and very concerned looking faces on the back of horses. Aramis immediately jumped off and came racing over.

“Where have you been?!” he was yelling, mostly at Porthos. “We’ve been looking all over Paris for you!”

The comment made Athos roll his eyes at d'Artagnan. The young Musketeer had been with him when they discovered that the thugs were from outside Paris. He was disappointed that d’Artagnan hadn’t remembered. He made a mental note to teach d’Artagnan the importance of details.

Aramis immediately went over to Porthos’ horse and looked up at Tristian.

“Your face. What did they do to you? Come here,” he insisted and held his arms out for the boy. Before Porthos had the chance to stop him, Tristian was swinging his leg over and jumping off the horse. Porthos tried to grab his shirt to lower him down gently but, thankfully, Aramis caught him well enough in his arms. Aramis immediately wrapped himself around the boy, embracing him tightly against his stomach.

“I was so worried about you,” Aramis whispered to the top of Tristian’s head. Porthos dared to glance over at Athos for a moment only to discover that he was scowling even more.

"Where are their parents?" their irritated leader asked.  
  
"The Captain sent them home," d'Artagnan explained. "Then he had half of the Musketeers out looking for them."  
  
Athos nodded. "Then we must return to them to their parents and inform everyone that they've been found."  
  
Aramis was obviously half listening because he reluctantly pulled away from Tristian and reached out for his hand.

"Would you like to ride with me?" Tristian seemed happy with the suggestion and bounced with Aramis over to the other horse. Aramis helped the boy put his foot into the stirrup then pushed him up. Aramis followed behind. Once Aramis had a grip on the reins he shot a quick glance over at Porthos. Porthos could tell that something wasn't right by the strange look in his eyes but Athos interrupted his thoughts.  
  
"Do you know where this one lives?" he asked, nodding down at the child in front of him.  
  
"I know where I live," Gilbert informed the Musketeer. Athos appeared shocked that the boy could speak. Porthos smiled at Gilbert right before he heard someone yelling 'ya!' and suddenly Aramis and his horse flew past them all, heading in a direction which wasn't towards the garrison.  
  
"Aramis!" D'Artagnan called out as they watched him go. His own horse was fidgeting and ready to give chase but d'Artagnan was holding it back.  
  
"Damnit," Porthos muttered.  
  
Athos glared at them both angrily. "This is your fault, you deal with it!" he barked.  
  
"How is it our...." Porthis didn't finished his question. He just found himself sighing and then he kicked his own horse to chase off after Aramis. D'Artagnan followed.  
  
It didn't take them long to catch up considering Aramis couldn't ride too fast with Tristian in front. By the time they got to him Aramis was on the ground, helping Tristian get off the horse and taking him into a tavern.  
  
"What's he doing?" D'Artagnan asked as he got off his own horse and tied the reins to a post. Porthos didn't respond because he didn't know. They went into the tavern and found Tristian already sitting at a table with a smile on his face. Aramis was standing beside the bar talking to the barman. When he came back he noticed the other two, froze for a moment, then continued towards the table to sit next to Tristian.  
  
Porthos stepped closer and, so as not to distress the boy, pulled back a chair and sat down with them.  
  
"What you doing?" he asked, trying to sound as normal as possible.  
  
"We're going to eat!" Tristian said with considerable joy. He hadn't eaten since lunch time the day before and he was very hungry. Aramis smiled at Tristian and then transferred the smile to Porthos. Porthos didn't smile back. He just eyed them warily as d'Artagnan also sat down to join the party.  
  
"Aramis, this isn't the way to..." Porthos began but he was soon interrupted by Tristian.  
  
"What are we eating?" the boy asked.  
  
"I asked for meat, bread and grapes...lots of grapes." Aramis continued to smile warmly at the boy who gasped with delight.  
  
"I love grapes!"  
  
It made Aramis chuckle because he knew, of course he knew. He had tried to find out everything possible about his son.  
  
"And what don't you like?" Aramis asked, now completely ignoring the other two and focusing on Tristian entirely.  
  
"Cabbage. I used to shove it into my pockets when Mama wasn't looking then throw it out of the window. Except I was slightly worried that all of my old cabbages would grow into a giant cabbage and eat up our house."  
  
"That would be very unlikely," Aramis informed him as he continued to beam.  
  
"Aramis," D'Artagnan began. "We really need to get him back."  
  
"I'm hungry," Tristian announced, rather oblivious to the tense situation.  
  
"I'm tired," D'Artagnan admitted with a sigh.  
  
"I'm not," Tristian told him. "I slept a little although I had to look after Athos."  
  
D'Artagnan nodded his sympathy and understanding at that statement until he realised that he was being distracted from the problem at hand.  
  
Porthos looked around the tavern which was pretty empty considering it was still early in the day. Still, there were a few people around, drunks who had started early and people hungry for lunch. "Don't force me to make a scene," he tried to mutter out of the corner of his mouth at Aramis.  
  
"I'm not," Aramis suddenly snapped. He turned to look at Porthos but his angry expression changed within seconds to one of sadness. "I just want to protect him. Keep him safe."  
  
"What happened occurred whilst he was at school, Aramis. You can't watch him every single second of his life. He's a ten year old boy, not a baby."  
  
"Still, he will be better off with me."  
  
Porthos frowned with concern at that rather ominous statement. However, before he could speak, Tristian cut in again.

“Will you take me straight to Papa after I’ve eaten lunch?” he asked Aramis, looking up at him with his big brown eyes. “He might not know that I am well. He will need to hug me.” Aramis stared back at him and Porthos could tell he was upset by the way his eyes started to shine a little with moisture. The Musketeer eventually nodded.

“Yes, if that’s what you want,” he whispered.

The answer seemed to please the boy who then cheered with happiness when the food arrived on two plates. After stuffing enough grapes into his mouth to make his cheeks swell he started passing some of the food to Porthos and d’Artagnan, sharing out his meal. Aramis kept quiet the entire time and he didn’t touch his food either. Porthos started feeling really sorry for him and reached out to give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Aramis flinched at first but didn’t move away.

“Aramis,” Porthos said softly when Tristian was distracted with eating. “I know this is hard, but you can’t just take him.”

Aramis nodded and tried to keep his composure even though he looked close to tears. He took in a deep breath at one stage and sat himself up in the chair straighter. He watched as Tristian exchange the bread on his plate with the meat from Aramis’ with a cheeky grin. Aramis managed to smile back.

“I saw that,” he teased which made Tristian giggle in amusement.

“Papa said that I should eat lots of meat so I can get big muscles like Porthos!”

Porthos nodded at the statement. “Yup that’s how I got mine,” he said which had d’Artagnan and even Aramis chuckling. “Loads of meat.”

Tristian shoved some meat into his mouth and chewed for a while, turning to stare at d’Artagnan for a moment. Then he held out some of the meat towards the youngest Musketeer.

“You need to eat more meat I think.”

This time it was Porthos’ turn to join in with the laughter. D’Artagnan looked a little more offended. The mood during the rest of the meal continued to be happy thanks to Tristian and his infectious joy. By the time they were back on their horses even Aramis seemed far more relax.

“What happened to that girl you were going to marry?” he asked his miniature self who was sitting in front of him.

“Liliane Cabella? Oh, I saw her giving another boy a free carrot from her father’s market stall _twice_ , so I’ve decided not to give my heart to her.”

Aramis nodded his approval.  “Well done. You’re far more sensible than I am.”

“Anyway…” Tristian continued. “…there are two girls who I see on my way to school every morning and they both giggle whenever I walk past and their cheeks blush pink. So I think I will marry one of them.”

Porthos couldn’t help but snort his amusement. “It’s amazing it took Athos so long to figure it out…”

Aramis suddenly looked over with his eyes wide. “He knows?!”

Porthos nodded. “Yeah he guessed. Couldn’t you tell him from his frown?”

Aramis sighed, as if he could already imagine the reaction he was going to get from Athos when they got back to the garrison. “He always frowns at me. It didn’t appear any worse than usual.”

When they got back to the garrison the frown was worse than usual but it was shielded slightly by Julien who looked incredibly relieved the moment he saw his son on the front of the horse.

“Tristian!” he cried and went running over. Tristian wiggled about and Aramis helped him down from the horse. Tristian’s father swung him around with delight, almost weeping with happiness. He kissed Tristian’s cheek and then hugged him tightly as he knelt on the ground. “Thank you,” he whispered as he struggled to let go of his son from fear of losing him again.

After a moment of embracing his boy, Julien looked over Tristian’s shoulder and up at Aramis who was sliding off his horse. He seemed to pause for a moment before letting go of the child but holding onto his hand as he stood up again.

“Aramis…thank you. But I wish you had told me.”

Aramis stared at Julien, then over at Athos in horror. “You…you told him?”

“He deserved to know,” Athos said stoically.

Aramis was in shock. He didn’t know what to say, he just turned back to Tristian and his father and stared in disbelief.

“I’m not angry, or mad…or even disappointed,” Julien said, giving Tristian’s little hand a squeeze before looking down at the boy. “Tristian, will you go and help d’Artagnan take the horses back to the stables?”

The boy nodded, grinned and went off. D’Artagnan helped a very proud Tristian guide Aramis’ horse away which allowed Julien to continue once he knew that his son could no longer hear the conversation.

“I knew that he must have a proper father out there somewhere. Although, I must admit, I didn’t think I’d ever meet him. But still, it looks like now I have and this explains why the three of you were so keen to be a part of Tristian’s life. Now I understand it.”

Aramis was still unable to speak, which was quite an unusual occurrence, but it allowed Julien to continue.

“If you wish to be a part of his life I will not stop you. He adores you, he adores all of you. But I just ask one thing…that we wait a couple of years before we tell him who you are. I want him to be old enough to understand.”

Aramis found himself nodding, slowly. He was utterly amazed that Julien was taking it so well. He felt like he should really say something. “I…I thought perhaps if you found out that you would ban me from seeing him.”  

Julien choked, looking slight stunned by the statement. “Why would I do that? You’ve all been so kind and generous to him. And Athos insisted that you don’t want to take him away from me. That you have no intention of leaving the Musketeers and that you understand that I am his father. You just want to be part of his life....” He looked over at Athos, as did Aramis who was somewhat astounded by the words. “I have no problem with that.”

“I…thank you,” Aramis eventually managed to say. “Athos is right, you are his father and I will respect that. Thank you for not wanting to cut me out.”

“Never,” Julien smiled as he came over to Aramis. “The boy is lucky to have two fathers instead of just one.” He held his hand out to Aramis. Aramis took it and they shook hands firmly.

\-----------------------------

“No!” Athos sighed. “You have done it again.”

Tristian looked up at the Musketeer and was confused about what he had done wrong. Athos was soon alongside him, tapping the short leg with the side of his sword.

“You have the wrong foot forward again, you’re exposing too much of your body for me to attack.”

Tristian quickly twisted and swapped his legs around. Then he grinned up at Athos and held his short blunt sword up, this time standing in the right position.

“Good,” Athos said and went back around to the front of him. “Sword fighting is just as much about blocking and defending yourself. I keep telling you that.”

“Yes, Athos,” Tristian said with glee.

“Now try that again.”

Tristian swung his sword forward and began to attack Athos once more. Athos easily blocked his swings and continued to bark out orders. When he began to attack Tristan back the boy managed quite a successful parry which had the other three cheering from the bench. Tristian was too busy grinning, however, to remember how to counter-attack which made Athos stop and sigh again.

“You’re not concentrating.”

“Athos!” D’Artagnan called. “He’s ten, give him a chance!”

“Almost eleven!” Tristian pointed out.

“Ah yes,” Aramis said from the bench. “And what would you like for your birthday?”

“A blue sash like yours!” Tristian called over to Aramis, although he was also looking up at Athos, prepared for another attack. Aramis smiled proudly at the present request, he could get a blue sash. “And a pistol!” Tristian added which made them all frown.

“Yeah that’s not gonna happen,” Porthos pointed out.

“Stop distracting him,” Athos growled. “He needs to learn.”

Porthos sighed at their leader and his impatience with children. “Tristian…” he said. “…do your special move.”

Tristian nodded, jumped forward and kicked Athos hard in the shin. Athos cried out and leaned down to clutch his leg. Tristian then pounced on top of him which sent them both tumbling to the ground and the three watching into fits of laughter.


End file.
